


Miracle in a TARDIS

by greeneggs101



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s06e13 The Wedding of River Song, Kissing, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Time Travel, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneggs101/pseuds/greeneggs101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please, There’s just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t be…dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop, just stop this… --- John Watson.</p><p>The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous and sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles….and that’s a theory. Nine hundred years and I’ve never seen one yet, but this will do me. ---The Doctor</p><p>Eighteen Months after Sherlock's fall, John meets a stranger in a bow tie who arrives in a blue police box. It wasn't exactly the type of miracle he was asking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracle in a TARDIS

**Author's Note:**

> Based on and inspired by the multitudes of Wholock gifs floating around tumblr. This was meant to be a quick fic but then the TARDIS developed a mind of her own and flew off to bigger things. Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 3 of Sherlock and Season 6 Episode 13 of Doctor Who. It is set after the Richenbach Fall in Sherlockian timeline and After "The Wedding of River Song" but before the season 6 Christmas Episode in the Doctor Who timeline.
> 
> I apologize in advance for the length but there wasn't really a good place to divide it up.

 

  _Please, There’s just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t be…dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop, just stop this… --- John Watson._

_The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous and sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles….and that’s a theory. Nine hundred years and I’ve never seen one yet, but this will do me. ---The Doctor_

 

 ~o~o~o~

 

John peered again out of the corner of his eye.

 

Yes, the man was there. _Again._

 

John turned back to Sherlock’s grave marker. In the three weeks John had begun to notice the man, the man had done nothing but watch.

 

The man both stood out and faded into the background. He was tall, wore a tweed jacket with elbow pads, and a bowtie. At first glance John would think the man to be much older than himself but over time John realized that the man appeared to be younger.

 

John laid a hand on Sherlock’s headstone one last time and said his weekly parting words. “You were a good man, Sherlock. I’ll be back next week.”

 

With those words John turned around. The man had disappeared. As usual.

 

Several times John had thought about confronting the strange man but each time was stopped by the lack of words. Who was the man? And why did he show up to Sherlock’s grave?

 

For who else could the strange man be visiting, if not Sherlock? John had wandered over to the place where the man always stood and found nothing but empty plots.

 

Perhaps the man was a fan of his brilliant friend. A supporter who wished to pay his last respects to the best man John ever knew. But why show up every week? At the exact time as John?

 

A more paranoid part of John’s brain, the part that had developed over the months of living with Sherlock, wondered if the man was not part of the numerous paparazzi that still followed John around. Perhaps this man was an enemy of Sherlock, one of the many reporters who ruined Sherlock’s good name.

 

Both cases made it difficult for John to approach the strange man in the bowtie. If he was a fan, John didn’t think he could talk about the consulting detective without dissolving into tears.

 

If he were an enemy, well, it would not end well for him. John already held back enough when there were cameras around to photo his every movement, but every time a reporter questioned if “he, too, believed that Sherlock was a fake?” John wanted to punch something, preferably the reporter, man or woman.

Best he not approach the strange man. He already had enough trouble for a lifetime. Far too much.

 

~o~o~o~

 

John left the cemetery, but didn’t make his way home quite yet. He still had one more tradition.

 

He followed a route he had memorized ages ago. Down the street to a back alley and over a gate into the next alley. If the gate still bore scuffmarks from when he and Sherlock had climbed over it, John chose not to notice. He finally came to a wall that was still a part of the alleyway, but was visible to the busy street adjacent to it.

 

There on the wall were several fading and freshly painted graffiti marks. The yellow paint from last month was starting to fade but had not yet been pained over. John took a can of nearly empty yellow spray paint from the inside of his jacket and took the cap off.

 

He nearly smiled at the thought that a long time ago, he received an ASBO for an act of vandalism that he didn’t commit, but he now did it freely and proudly, for the message he wanted to spread was important. But the smile faded as he remembered why the message was needed.

 

John took a deep breath and used the last of the spray paint to pain over the faded yellow.

 

_I believe in Sherlock Holmes._

 

John made sure that the paint had completely set before throwing the empty can down the alleyway and left the area.

 

Over the last 18 months the homeless network and graffiti artists around the city began to spread his message, but they always left John to repaint this one once a month.

 

It was the least they could do.

 

 ~o~o~o~

 

John made his way back to the flat on Baker Street. Though it was difficult the first few months after Sherlock’s dea—fall, John remained in the flat, scared that if he left, Mycroft would collect Sherlock’s possessions, and Mrs. Hudson would rent the flat out to some one else. The thought of someone else sleeping in Sherlock’s room, cooking breakfast in Sherlock’s home laboratory, and plastering over Sherlock’s smiley face was too much to John to bear.

 

So he stayed. Simple as that.

 

At first it was hard to come up with the money to cover Sherlock’s share. Mrs. Hudson let him slide as long as she could, but eventually she began losing money on the property. John’s army pension and the payment he got from working short hours at the clinic didn’t amount to much. Mycroft offered to help cover the rest, but John was still furious with him for letting Moriarty out, for giving Moriarty everything he needed to play out his twisted fairy tale, and so he refused to receive any monetary help from the elder Holmes.

 

A week later John was promoted in the clinic to a position that offered a larger salary, more than enough to cover both his and Sherlock’s share. John suspected Mycroft’s involvement but his employers did a good job of persuading him that the promotion was based on merit and not any outside influences, that John didn’t press the matter.

 

The clinic kept him busy enough and his lack of his second job opened up his availability, but his employers insisted that he take one day a week off. John took these days off to not do much of anything, but he always went to visit Sherlock’s grave.

 

He also returned to visiting his therapist twice a month. She asserted that he should keep up with the blog but without Sherlock’s presence, the blog seemed useless. So instead he talked to Sherlock. It probably wasn’t what his therapist would see as healthy, but it worked for John. He once told her about his weekly visits and his therapist questioned if John visited Sherlock not only to talk about his day, but also talk to a version of Sherlock that never spoke back? Something John had complained about in his blog.

 

John had stayed quiet for the rest of that appointment and his therapist wisely never brought up his weekly visits again.

 

‘I would give anything,’ John thought, ‘even being interrupted after every sentence, if it meant I could hear him again.’

John left his thoughts alone after that contemplation and focused on making his way up the steps to his flat.

 

Life was getting easier, if not happier, since Sherlock’s fall. The first week John had to order himself out of bed, order himself to eat, order himself to live.

 

_Get up John!_

_Eat John!_

_Breathe John!_

 

By now John could get through most of the day without ordering himself to do so. It was only at night when John would stare at the empty armchair across from him and at the skull on the mantel would he have to make one last order of himself.

 

_Do not pick up the gun John! Do not kill yourself John!_

It probably wouldn’t have worked if John’s brain had not supplied Sherlock’s voice to yell out this particular order. John’s brain obviously had a sense of self-preservation while John’s heart did not.

 

This particular day was difficult. It had been eighteen months, to the day, since Sherlock’s fall.

 

John could hardly believe that the world could still turn, still function after Sherlock. Nobody seemed to notice that the crime rate rose, cold cases multiplied or that the world itself seemed a little smaller.

 

John supposed that he couldn’t really blame others for that last one.

 

John sighs and goes to the fridge to get some dinner. The various experiments and severed limbs had to be thrown out months ago, but the fridge still smelled like formaldehyde and John didn’t want to get a new one. He grabbed the left over curry from the other night and ate it cold, too depressed to do much else.

 

After his dinner of cold curry where he tried not to think about Sherlock, John went to bed, desperate for this day to be over with.

 

As he lay in bed he began drift off when a noise startled him out of the place between awake and sleep.

 

_Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_

 

It took a while for John to realize that the sound was not part of some strange dream, but it was real, and coming from downstairs. John leapt from the bed and rushed down the stairs to the sitting room by time he got there he saw a sight that he couldn’t believe

 

_Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_

 

There was a blue police box fading out of his sitting room. John blinked and it was gone completely.

 

John turned to go back up stairs, ready to write this off as a hallucination brought on by two-day-old curry when he stopped and looked closer at the kitchen table.

 

On the table, nestled between medical journals and yesterday’s breakfast plates was a piece of paper and a small round object.

 

Closer inspection revealed the small round object to be a rubber ball. It took John less than a minute to place it. It was the same ball Sherlock was playing the day of his suic---fall. But how did it get here?

 

The piece of paper was only slightly more revealing. Written in a hand John couldn’t place was a message

 

I’m sure you have questions and I have answers. Come along, Watson!

 

            The Doctor

 

Along with the short note was an address. John instantly recognized it was the address for St. Bart’s hospital.

 

John took both the note and the ball back upstairs with him. Before he fell asleep for the second time, John had one last thought.

 

_Apparently though he vowed that he had enough trouble for a lifetime, trouble, it appears, had come looking for him anyway._

~o~o~o~ 

 

The next day John got up early and called the clinic to let them know he wasn’t going to be coming in today. Sarah had picked up the phone and instantly understood, though she was worried.

 

“You’re not going to do anything stupid right?” she asked. “If you need me too I can come over if you need to talk.”

 

“No need, Sarah,” John replied. “I’m just not feeling up to coming in today.”

 

Sarah sighed into the phone. “You’re going to have to let him go eventually.”

 

“Eventually,” John agreed to pacify her. “But not today.”

 

After hanging up the phone he grabbed his keys, and his gun just in case, and left the flat.

 

He made his way to the tube station and waited for the train. He became lost in thought and the motions of getting on the train, and taking the hand railing, were all second nature to him.

 

As the train began to move John realized how stupid this meeting was. He had no idea who he was meeting, or if they were friend or foe. It could be another one of Mycroft’s “kidnappings” but Mycroft tended to be more direct than this.

 

It already crossed John’s mind that this might be a set up from one of Moriarty’s men. If that were the case then John would make sure the man went down with John.

 

John made his way around the hospital, making a wide berth over where Sherlock…landed.

 

John leaned against the building. His mysterious visitor didn’t leave a time for them to meet so John didn’t know how long he was expected to wait. Despite his diligence to keep an eye on the people around him, John felt himself being drawn into his memory of the day a year an a half ago. John saw across the street the place he had watched Sherlock on top of the building. Remembered his last words.

 

_Goodbye, John._

 

Remembered as Sherlock spread his arms and—

 

Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!

 

John was jerked out of his memories by the familiar noise. It was the exact same noise he had heard last night.

 

He whipped his head around and eventually found the source of the noise. In a nondescript alley way a blue police box was materializing out of thin air.

 

_Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_

 

The police box solidified. John brought out his gun and aimed it at the door. If this were one of Moriarty’s tricks then John would be ready.

 

The door opened and a man stumbled out. John nearly dropped the gun in surprise. It was the man.

 

_The strange man at the graveyard._

 

The man glanced up at him. “Oh good you did get my note, I was afraid I’d have to wait around all day.” The man looked around “It is Tuesday right?”

 

“Who are you?!” John demanded. “Did you work for Moriarty? Mycroft?!”

 

The man shrugged. “Now John, do you really think this is Mycroft’s style? Or Moriarty’s for that matter?”

 

John didn’t put the gun down. “How do you know my name?”

 

The man closed the door of the police box. “Sherlock told me.”

 

“Sherlock’s dead.”

 

“No.” It seemed the man couldn’t look John in the eye.

 

“He’s dead!” John was shouting now, starting to draw attention from the people on the street. “I watched him jump! I felt for his pulse! I bur---I buried him.” John began to break down. He lowered the gun and felt the man gently take it from him. John felt the tears begin to run down his face.

 

“…Vatican Cameos”

 

John jerked his head up. It was the secret phrase Sherlock had come up with to act as a warning when he was about to do something stupid. Well, Sherlock said it was to tell John something important was going to happen, but John knew that it almost always meant Sherlock was going to do something stupid. John never told the phrase to anyone, and the only other two who knew it were dead.

 

He peered closer at the man. Though physically he seemed younger than John, his eyes looked older. Much older.

 

“How about we go get lunch? I’m craving some fish fingers and custard!” the man grinned and then took a key out of his pocket. He locked up the strange blue box and then handed John’s gun back to him.

 

John put the gun back in it’s holster and followed the man out on too the street. He hoped the man’s craving wasn’t to eat those two foods together. There are only so many strange things he can take in one day.

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

John’s wish didn’t come true as he watched the strange man in the bow tie dip the child size portion of fish fingers into a side order of custard. John looked down at his own order, a sandwich and fries, and found his appetite had vanished. John pushed the plate away and glanced back up at the man.

 

“Who are you?”

 

The man grinned. “They call me the Doctor.”

 

“Doctor who, exactly?” John questioned further.

 

The man’s grin grew but didn’t elaborate.

 

John looked back down to his plate. “Why did you say Sherlock was alive?”

 

“Because he is.”

 

John looked up at the Doctor. “I told you, he isn’t. You’ve been watching me at his grave! You know he’s dead and buried there!” John began to get angry again. Angry at the stupid man in his stupid bow tie saying stupid things.

 

“And yet I met him.”

 

John furrowed his brown and got up. “This was a waste of time.” John laid money on the table and left the café. Much to his annoyance the Doctor followed.

 

“John, wait!” the man caught up to John. “How do you think I knew the secret phrase? Not to mention I just materialized out of thin air with my TARDIS!”

 

“Your what?”

 

“Never mind,” the man continued. “The point is Sherlock asked me to keep an eye on you. Actually his exact words were ‘Watch John to make sure he doesn’t do anything idiotic.’ I’ve been watching you at a distance but today I needed to make contact with you. Sherlock needs your help.”

 

“How do I know this isn’t some elaborate hallucination? Or a dream?” John tried to reason. The man wasn’t making any sense. Why would Sherlock be alive and not tell him?

 

The Doctor leaned in close. “You’re a realistic man. Do you think you could dream a magic blue box materializing out of nowhere? What was it Sherlock said? Once you’ve eliminated the impossible what ever remains, however improbable…”

 

“…Must be the truth.” John finished. John looked back at those old eyes. “Why does he need help? Why can’t you help him?”

 

“He might need medical attention and while I may be the Doctor I’m not that kind of doctor.” The Doctor paused and seemed to be lost in thought. “I used to have a nurse but he kept dying on me.” The man then turned back to John. “You’re his friend, his colleague. Will you come?”

 

John hesitated and looked around. Without realizing it they had walked back to the exact spot Sherlock had landed. If what this Doctor said were true, he would be able to see Sherlock again. If not, well, he had nothing else to lose.

 

“Yes.”

 

The Doctor grinned. “Brilliant! Back to the TARDIS then.” He grabbed his key out of his pocket and ran around the corner to open the door to the box. “Come along, Watson!”

 

John hesitated for only a second before entering the police box. 

 

And promptly stopped.

 

“Well don’t just stand there! Close the door!”

 

John reached behind him and yanked the door shut. But his eyes remained on the entire world that was inside the box. The man was rushing about what appeared to be a control console and smiled at John’s amazement. 

 

“Yes, yes, bigger on the inside. Wish I had time to give you a tour…well…I do but I assume you’ll want to get to Sherlock as soon as possible yes.”

 

The mention of Sherlock’s name John snapped to attention. An exploration of the strange room can wait till later. “Yes. Where exactly are we going…and how is a police box going to get us there?”

 

“It’s a TARDIS. And she’s wonderful.”

 

The doctor pulled a lever and the now familiar sound began.

 

Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!

 

 ~o~o~o~ 

 

~interlude one~

 

The Doctor didn’t plan on the smugglers to capture him. He didn’t even plan on being seen. Really. It was just a bad case of wrong place wrong time. He just wanted to visit the waterfront and had parked his TARDIS further up the beach to prevent it from getting wet. Nothing’s worse than wet TARDIS smell.

 

Never the less, he was seen, captured, and thrown into a dirty room with a door and a latch made of wood.

 

_Wood._

 

Wasn’t this supposed to be the age of technology and all that?

 

This really wasn’t the Doctor’s day.

 

The Doctor tried to get his sonic to unscrew the metal hinges on the door but they jammed. The Doctor was well and truly stuck.

Definitely not his day.

 

He heard a sound behind him.

 

The Doctor turned around and what could have been a tall man, dressed all in black, with a head of shaggy black hair kneeling on the ground.

 

It could have also been a very large dead animal.

 

But then the shape moved and coughed and spoke a very human “Hello.”

 

Not dead then. Or an animal.

 

The Doctor knelt down next to the man. “Are you alright?”

 

The man gave a snort and glared at the Doctor. “I’m shackled and locked in a room with no windows and one door. I am not ok. If you don’t have anything useful to provide to this conversation, don’t speak.”

 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Well…that’s rather rude.”

 

“I’m not exactly in a position to be nice.” The man turned his face so it faced the Doctor.

 

The doctor noticed now that the man had several bruises and gaunt cheekbones. Overall the man was thin.

 

“Well, I don’t know if this is useful but I can unshackle you.” The Doctor offered.

 

“How do you expect to do that? There is no key and nothing to pick the lock with.” The man scoffed.

 

“Keys are for amateurs.” The doctor replied. He whipped out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the shackles. The screwdriver whirred and the lock snapped open.

 

The man moved his hands to a more comfortable position and observed as the Doctor put the screwdriver away. “You’re not from around here.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“And you’re not British despite having a British accent. Northampton specifically.”

 

“…Correct again. How did you—“

 

“No time.” The man leaned against the wall and once again put his hands behind his back. “They are coming back, it’s noon. Lunch time.”

Sure enough the door was unlatched and opened only about 15 centimeters and something was thrown in, hitting the Doctor in the head. “Ouch!” the Doctor exclaimed and rubbed his head. The door snapped shut.

 

The Doctor picked up the item that was thrown at him. “An apple? I hate apples…” He tossed the offending object at the tall man who caught it. “How on earth do they expect you to eat an apple with your hands behind your back?”

 

“Creatively.” The man took a small bite. “I admit though it is far easier to do with hands.”

 

The doctor looked around the room. “Another question: why were you tied up and I wasn’t?”

 

The man shrugged. “I proved to be rather… stubborn…when it came to getting out of here. So they grabbed the only pair of handcuffs they had and locked me up.” The man observed the Doctor some more. “You don’t look as threatening.”

 

The Doctor was slightly insulted. “Well that’s rather judgmental isn’t it? I can be very threatening.

 

The man looked doubtful.

 

The Doctor got tired of referring to the man as ‘the man’ in his head. “Who are you anyway? Why were you locked up in here?”

 

The man took another small bite. “My name is Sherlock Holmes and I was locked up for not paying better attention to my surroundings.”

 

“Why were you snooping?”

 

Holmes glared. “Why do you want to know?”

 

The Doctor shrugged. “Well since we are not going anywhere anyway…”

 

The man’s glare seemed to lesson. “I was looking for information on a man who is more deserving to be locked up.” The man obviously wasn’t going to give out further information.

 

The Doctor did some observing of his own. “Did this man threaten you?” The body language didn’t give anything away but the man’s face gave some expression.

 

“No.”

 

“A friend of yours perhaps?”

 

Holmes didn’t answer, but his body language did. It was subtle but it was there. Worry, concern, frustration over not being able to help flickered across the man’s face.

 

“Who is she?”

 

“HE,” came the immediate answer. Holmes seemed to curl up on himself. “His name is John Watson.”

 

“Is Mr. Watson looking for you? Would he know where to find you?” The Doctor was getting antsy for a way out of here. He ached to return to the TARDIS and hoped this man’s friend would be his ticket out.

 

“Dr. Watson. And no. He wouldn’t look for me.” Holmes curled up further. “He thinks I’m dead.”

 

“Why would he think that?”

 

“It was necessary.” The man didn’t want to elaborate further, which was fine with the Doctor.

 

He understood the importance of pretending to be dead.

 

The Doctor sat down next to Holmes. Without the arrogant personality the tall man seemed more like a boy. "Why don't you just go back to him if you’re so worried?"

 

Holmes, no _Sherlock_ seemed to almost panic at the question. "I've been playing dead for over a year. How will he react? What if he hates me for lying to him?"

 

The Doctor understood those exact questions and didn't have an answer for Sherlock. After all, it was a bit unfair of him to tell Sherlock to do something he himself was scared to do.

 

Sherlock turned to look at the Doctor. “If I can get you out of this room, do you have a way to evade the smugglers?”

 

The Doctor thought of his TARDIS, lonely and cold where he left her. “Yes.”

 

“Then I can get you out. They are more concerned about me leaving than you so I can distract them. But if I do can you promise me something?” Sherlock looked the Doctor in the eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“Can you go to London and find John Watson? Keep and eye on him so he doesn’t do anything idiotic.”

 

The Doctor nodded. It wasn’t too big of a favor. “What if he sees me?”

 

“I don’t care. Tell him you’re an old friend.” Sherlock persists. “Just watch John to make sure he doesn’t do anything idiotic. If he persists…tell him ‘Vatican Cameos’. He’ll understand.”

 

“Vatican Cameos” the Doctor whispered to himself. “Understood.”

 

A few hours later the Doctor was home free. As soon as he got into the TARDIS he punched in John’s name. The Doctor had his own plan. Sherlock had warned the Doctor not to come back for him as he would just be re-captured, but he never said anything about not bringing help back. From the stories Sherlock told him in the few hours they spent before his escape, this other doctor seemed to be capable of helping the Doctor stage a breakout. Besides…

 

The Doctor always did have a soft spot for love.

 

Of course, being the Doctor, things didn’t go smoothly. But instead of arriving late to the party, he actually arrived 3 weeks early. Well, as long as he was here he might as well do what Sherlock had asked and keep an eye on the army doctor. He landed his TARDIS down in the cemetery Sherlock said that John visited. He was right on schedule as John approached the black marble and began speaking.

 

The Doctor remained hidden but as the wind carried John’s words up to him, the Doctor realized that Sherlock was wrong about one thing.

 

John Watson, M.D. definitely loved Sherlock in return.

 

~end interlude one~

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

At the moment though, John felt very confused. After what seemed just a few seconds the Doctor pulled open the door to a place that wasn’t London.

 

The Doctor rushed out and John stepped out more hesitantly. It was sunny, and he could smell the sea. “Where are we?”

 

“Uh…Morocco. Specifically, Casablanca.” The Doctor replied, as he seemed to be searching the beachfront for something.

 

John raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

 

The Doctor didn’t even turn around. “There it is! That dingy hole in the ground…”

 

John looked over to where the Doctor was pointing. “That’s where they are holding Sherlock? Wouldn’t they have moved him by now?”

 

“Well maybe…but technically it’s only been less than an hour since I left, so probably not.”

 

John looked at the Doctor incredulously. “But you’ve been keeping an eye on me for at least three weeks… Why didn’t you come get me sooner?”

 

The Doctor looked appropriately chastised. “Wibbly-Wobbly timey wimey. I messed up my coordinates and landed in London three weeks ago. I couldn’t cross my own time stream to get here before I was actually here…” He noticed John’s confused face. “Time travel. Can’t keep it straight…”

 

John just nodded. He heard stranger things come out of Sherlock’s mouth. “Right…”

He looked at the shoreline. “So he’s in that building?” He pointed to the shack. “Looks easy enough to escape…”

 

“Well yeah, except for the armed guards with their pointy knives and bullets and overall brute strength, yeah… no problem.”

 

John looked closer and he saw there were indeed guards with semi-automatic guns. “Ahh… I see what you mean. So what? One of us can cause a distraction while the other gets Sherlock?” He then looked back at the blue police box. “Or… this thing travels through space too right? Not just time?”

 

“Time And Relative Dimension In Space. TARDIS…yes why?” The Doctor turned around.

 

“So…why don’t we just use the…TARDIS…to get in there, grab Sherlock, and get out?” John thought it was a good plan. Simple and effective.

 

“Well yeah, not very heroic though.”

 

“We’re going for efficiency, not heroics. Though does it always make that noise?” John didn’t want to alert the guards to their escape.

 

“What noise?”

 

“You know, the whoosh noise?”

 

“I like that noise…”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Whatever, can you turn it off?”

 

The Doctor nodded and they returned to the TARDIS. Within moments they had landed again.

 

John opened the door.

 

That was when all hell broke loose.

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

~interlude two~

 

Sherlock didn’t exactly expect to be caught. Seen, yes, maybe even roughed up a little, but never actually caught. Obviously his skills have been failing him.

 

Or he got just a little too used to his ever-present back up.

 

Either way, Sherlock was now locked in a shack.

 

It was rather unfortunate.

 

After a few unsuccessful escape attempts, his captors grabbed what was probably the only pair of handcuffs they hand and shackled his hands behind his back. Not amateurs then, or else they would have made the foolish mistake of shackling his hands in front of him.

 

But these fools didn’t look like ex-cops or military men. So they must have gotten orders from someone else.

 

Probably the someone Sherlock was looking for. The only major player left in Moriarty’s web. The one who had John in his crosshairs that fateful day.

 

Sebastian Moran.

 

Moran would be abroad right now, which is why Sherlock had attempted to sneak in to this smuggling operation. Through careful observation and access to certain “confidential” documents, Sherlock had discovered that Moran had connections with this smuggling ring. Was in charge of it actually.

 

So Sherlock getting caught was just a mild irritant for now. If he couldn’t find out where Moran was, Moran would have to come to him eventually.

 

A few days, and a couple of half eat apples later. It came as a surprise to Sherlock when his captors opened the door and threw another man in the shack with him.

 

Sherlock thought about sitting up straighter and tried to shift to sit on his backside, but then found he didn’t have the energy to do so. So he sat there. He did think it might be good to alert his new cellmate to his presence though.

 

John would have thought it good manners. And with a lack of John around, Sherlock found himself thinking more about the army doctor and what he would do. John would say ‘hello’ so that is what Sherlock did.

 

“Hello.” Sherlock rasped.

 

Sherlock heard rather than saw the man kneel down beside him. “Are you alright?”

 

Sherlock snorted. The man must be a simpleton. “I’m shackled and locked in a room with no windows and one door. I am not ok. If you don’t have anything useful to provide to this conversation, don’t speak.”

 

“Well…that’s rather rude.”

 

“I’m not exactly in a position to be nice.” Sherlock looked up at the man and immediately began deducing, but not finding much. While the accent was British (Northampton specifically), everything else about the man, particularly the dust and dirt on his clothes and the bottoms of his shoes to did not suggest British.

 

“Well, I don’t know if this is useful but I can unshackle you.” The man offered.

 

The man was definitely a simpleton. “How do you expect to do that? There is no key and nothing to pick the lock with.” Sherlock scoffed.

 

“Keys are for amateurs.” The man replied. Sherlock heard him take something out of his jacket and a soft “whir” sound. Next thing Sherlock, knew his hands were free. He moved his hands to rest in his lap and watched the man put the mysterious device back into his pocket.

 

The man was surprised by Sherlock’s deduction when he told the man. He was specifically surprised that Sherlock knew this now interesting, if stupid, man was not from Britain.

 

Their captors brought lunch. A whole apple to share. Luckily the strange man was either generous or stupid, (probably both, Sherlock mused), and tossed the apple to Sherlock. The man’s ridiculously simple questions were answered succinctly if only because Sherlock had nothing better to think about. He didn’t ask for the man’s name in return. That information was useless for an escape plan.

 

Then the man finally asked an interesting question. “Why were you snooping?”

 

Sherlock glared at the man. Did he really think he would give a potential spy vital information. “Why do you want to know?”

 

The man shrugged. “Well since we are not going anywhere anyway…”

 

Sherlock realized his anger was misdirected. Besides, if the man was a spy for Moran, he was doing a pretty terrible job at it. “I was looking for information on a man who is more deserving to be locked up.”

 

The man seemed to observe him and Sherlock found it a little nerving to find his techniques fired back at him. This must be how other people felt in his presence. “Did this man threaten you?”

 

“No.” Not directly.

 

“A friend of yours perhaps?”

 

Sherlock immediately thought of John. Yes, his mind shouted, but outwardly Sherlock didn’t say anything.

 

“Who is she?” The man pressed on. He was much more observant than Sherlock first thought. But he wasn’t going to let this man think that John, small ferocious John, was some sort of obnoxious woman.

 

“HE,” Sherlock practically spit out. Just thinking about John and talking about him was causing an ache in his chest and Sherlock curled up to contain it. “His name is John Watson.”

 

“Is Mr. Watson looking for you? Would he know where to find you?” Obviously the man was looking for potential escape routes. Sherlock was almost sorry to disappoint him.

 

“Dr. Watson. And no. He wouldn’t look for me.” The ache grew. Of course John would never look for him, would never chase after him. Sherlock made sure of that. “He thinks I’m dead.”

 

“Why would he think that?” The man was definitely hitting too close to home now

 

“It was necessary.” Sherlock’s tone made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate further.

 

The man’s facial features didn't show pity like Sherlock had expected, but were more like understanding, an emotion Sherlock rarely saw when talking to others. The man sat down next to Sherlock. "Why don't you just go back to him if you’re so worried?"

 

Sherlock couldn’t help it. The pain in his chest intensified and if it weren’t for his good health he would have thought he was having a heart attack. "I've been playing dead for over a year. How will he react? What if he hates me for lying to him?"

 

Again the man’s features and attitude demonstrated he understood.

 

A thought came to Sherlock and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. If the man wasn’t from around here, than he had to have gotten to the dock area somehow. “If I can get you out of this room, do you have a way to evade the smugglers?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A plan started to form in Sherlock’s head. “The I can get you out. They are more concerned about me leaving than you so I can distract them. But if I do can you promise me something?” Sherlock looked the man in the eyes. This was important.

 

“What?”

 

“Can you go to London and find John Watson? Keep and eye on him so he doesn’t do anything idiotic.” _Like off himself_ part of Sherlock’s mind supplied.

 

The man nodded. “What if he sees me?”

 

What a ridiculous concern. “I don’t care. Tell him you’re an old friend.” Sherlock persisted. “Just watch John to make sure he doesn’t do anything idiotic. If he persists…” Sherlock searched his memory for something for this strange man to tell John. Something John would recognize but also something only they would know. “Tell him ‘Vatican Cameos’. He’ll understand.”

 

“Vatican Cameos” the man whispered to himself. “Understood.”

 

Sherlock knew they had a few hours before he could put his plan into action. In that time he and this strange mysterious man talked. Sherlock found that though his chest ached from talking about John, he felt happier whispering stories of his army doctor to this strange man.

 

Eventually Sherlock was given a name to call this mysterious man in the bowtie.

 

The Doctor. Such a strange name.

 

Of course not nearly as good as his own doctor. His John.

 

~end interlude two~

 

 ~o~o~o~

 

John had opened the door a barely a crack. It was enough though to realize that all hell had broken loose.

 

Though the Doctor had been correct to assume that they had not moved Sherlock, he seemed to have mistakenly underestimated the people who held him captive.

 

Particularly the ones that surrounded Sherlock and particularly the one that was now holding a gun to Sherlock’s head.

 

The Doctor had been right in turning off the TARDIS’ distinctive sound. Neither the man nor Sherlock had noticed a blue police box materializing behind them. However, to the people standing in front of the door and now facing John, it was kind of hard to miss the giant blue box.

 

Hence, hell broke loose.

 

The two men were unarmed in the ammunition department but both were tall and muscular enough to dwarf John. The instantly made their way to the back of the room, gathering the attention of Sherlock, and more importantly, the man who had Sherlock captive.

 

The man turned and John got a brief look at his face. The most important thing that stood out to John was that the man didn’t look frightening at all. But then again, neither did Moriarty.

 

“Is he still here Jo--?” The doctor cut off. “John…why are the big tall scary men looming towards us?”

 

“No idea,” John replied sarcastically. He pulled out his gun, aimed it at the heftier of the two men and fired. The shot went through a half inch below the heart. A fatal wound, even if the guy wouldn’t die right away. John didn’t have time to line up a second shot before the second guy was on him.

 

John tried to use his height to his advantage, knowing that the larger man would have to get in close to land a punch on him. Not to mention he would have to bend over slightly. When the punch came John was ready for it. Dodging easily John let the man’s momentum lead him into the wall. The man hit the wall hard and fell to the ground. John kicked the man in the head and the blow knocked him out.

 

John turned around. The first man lay dying and the third man still held the gun to Sherlock’s head with his hand over Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock was on his knees and his eyes stared at John in shock.

 

The Doctor meanwhile, was still standing in the doorway of the TARDIS. “Well…that didn’t go according to plan at all.”

 

“Who are you?!” the man spoke. Looking at him clearly now, John see that the man was tall like Sherlock, and wore thick framed glasses. He was balding and thin. All together he didn’t look very impressive. At least until John got a good look at his eyes.

 

The man’s eyes were dark, and there was no regret. One of his associates laid dying at his feet and the man didn’t spare a glance towards him.

 

The Doctor walked cautiously up to the man. “Can’t you read? It’s a police box.”

John would have rolled his eyes if it wasn’t for the fact the gun pressed against Sherlock’s temple didn’t press harder. “Please Doctor, don’t antagonize him.”

 

The Doctor stopped moving. The man couldn’t seem to decide which one of the trespassers to watch. John had the gun but the Doctor was much closer.

 

It was a standoff.

 

Of course, nobody accounted for the man with the gun held to his head.

 

Suddenly the man let out a wail and ripped his hand away from Sherlock’s mouth. John took that second of confusion to line up a shot and fire. The man’s movement caused the shot to hit the man’s arm instead of his heart, but it still caused him enough pain to remove the gun from Sherlock’s head.

 

John raced for Sherlock who had collapsed. “Sherlock! Sherlock? Did he hurt you? Did he shoot you?” John immediately began looking for any bleeding wounds. His wandering hands were stopped when longer, thinner hands caught them and held them.

 

“John.” Sherlock caught John’s eye and stared at him. “John.”

 

John watched as Sherlock’s eyes flickered from shock to confusion to something else John couldn’t place on the detective. If it were anyone else he would have called it affection.

 

But that couldn’t be it.

 

“Hey! You! Get out of there!”

 

John whipped his head around. The man seemed to have disappeared into the TARDIS, the Doctor right on his heels. John looped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. Assessing his friend for wounds would have to happen later. The man had to be caught first.

 

Hurrying to the TARDIS John settled Sherlock down inside near the consol. The Doctor seemed to be trying to capture the man while simultaneously avoiding the gun.

 

John wasn’t sure what happened but the doors had closed and someone must have pulled the on switch because the familiar noise started up again.

 

_Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_

 

The next second a shot rang out and John immediately covered Sherlock’s body as much as he could with his own. He heard more shouting and another shot.

 

Then everything went still.

 

John hesitantly opened his eyes. He felt a breeze on the back of his head and turned around to see the source.

 

The doors to the TARDIS were open. The Doctor stood on the threshold watching a figure running and getting smaller and smaller.

 

John could smell the familiar tang of the Thames on the breeze, but it was different some how. “Are we back in London?”

 

The Doctor turned around at the question and had a nervous grin on his face. “Well… I have good news and bad news. Good news is, yes we are in London.” The Doctor ran up to the TARDIS’ consul and checked something. “Bad news is, it’s not exactly 2013 London.”

 

“Then what London is it?” Sherlock retorted. He turned to John for an answer.

 

But John wasn’t listening. He was staring out the window at the lamps on the street closest to them.

 

The _gas_ lamps.

 

The Doctor’s answer shocked John out of his observations. “1886 London. July to be exact.”

 

Sherlock let out a shout. “You let Sebastian Moran loose in 1886 London?”

 

John let out a weak laugh. Sherlock turned to him questioning. John grinned a little. “Think on the bright side. At least it wasn’t Moriarty.”

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just leave him here?” John asked.

 

“Because this isn’t his time stream.” The Doctor replied working on repairing his TARDIS. “If we just leave it could cause a rift in time causing a huge mess that I would be in charge of fixing. Might as well nip the problem in the bud.”

 

“And we can’t just kill him here?” Sherlock asked, agitated. He then winced as John poked briefly at a bruise. John muttered a sorry and went back to assessing Sherlock’s wounds. Sherlock looked back at the Doctor “Why do we have to bring him back?”

 

“Again: Not his time stream. Would cause time rift.” The Doctor plugged to cords in together and the TARDIS gave a noise like a groan. “Ah there she is. Almost good as new. Now if only people would stop shooting guns off in my TARDIS.”

 

John gave a small chuckle. Of the three of them, John was one taking it in stride. “That happen often?”

 

“Once. The girl was trying to see if I was lying…later she became my wife.” The Doctor seemed to zone out and then realized his companions were watching him strangely. “Long story…not really the time to go into it. Now…” The Doctor pulled up an image on what looked like a telly. “Lucky for us the TARDIS landed in an alleyway, so it should remain inconspicuous.”

 

“Yes because a blue police box can always remain inconspicuous.” Sherlock said sarcastically.

 

John sighed. “Look, we don’t know where he went—“

 

“Oh well I wouldn’t say that.” Sherlock started up. “He was obviously injured in by a rebounding bullet from the way he was holding his arm. We can just follow the blood trail…”

 

“As long as you’re well enough to walk.” John began but trailed off as Sherlock stood and began making shaky steps towards the door. He only collapsed once and the Doctor was there to right him again.

 

“I’m fine.” Sherlock mumbled before taking a few stronger steps toward the door and eventually made his way into the alleyway. “He turned left down the street.”

 

Sherlock looked back at his companions, especially at John. “Well… come on then, I would like to be back home soon.”

 

John smiled. “Me too.”

 

Soon, the Doctor, the Consulting Detective, and the Army Doctor made their way into the night.

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

They alleyway they had landed in was near Waterloo Bridge and so the path they followed took them down what John recognized as the Strand. The gas lamps gave off an eerie glow in the dead of night. John guessed that the hour must have been late as the streets were empty except for the scattered homeless vagabonds and the drunks stumbling home. The blood drops stopped flowing by the time they passed what used to be Scotland Yard.

 

Or rather what _is_ Scotland Yard, John supposed.

 

There the blood drops got smaller, then disappeared altogether. “Either the wound was just a graze and now clotted over, or he found something to bandage it with.”  Sherlock deduced. “Given the size of the drops earlier it’s the latter.”

 

“So what now?” John asked.

 

The Doctor frowned. “Something’s not right.”

 

Sherlock nodded. “Agreed. If he did find something to bandage up the wound, it would have taken time, and we should have spotted him if he started to run again.”

 

“So then he’s hid---“ John’s words were cut off as a gunshot went off and he felt a staggering pain in his right arm. John let out a shout and Sherlock ran to him.

 

“John!” Sherlock tacked John to the ground, jarring his arm in the process. John whipped out his gun and reached around Sherlock to aim blindly at where the shot came from. Before he could fire a returning round there came a shout from nearby.

 

“What’s going on? Who is firing?”

 

Light from a lantern began to get closer. There was a rustle from the bushes across the street and a dark figure jumped out and ran back towards the river. The Doctor made to run after him but by then the figure ran down the street into a maze of alleyways.

 

“Is everyone alright?” The voice continued to get closer, but was still a few streets down.

 

The Doctor returned to Sherlock and John. Sherlock kneeled over his comrade and placed hand over the wound. “You’re ok John. It’s just a graze. Lucky for us the ricocheted bullet hit his dominate hand. His aim was off.”

 

John offered a weak grin. “I know Sherlock. It’s ok. It’s just a little painful.”

 

Sherlock turned on the Doctor. “You’re a Doctor! Do something.”

 

“I’m not that kind of doctor!” The Doctor exclaimed. “I’m the Doctor. Not the kind of doctor that can help but the kind of Doctor that is absolutely useless in situations like this!”

 

“I’m a doctor.” The new voice helpfully said. The three companions turned to look at their new arrival. The man was younger than them, but already had a moustache that threatened to take over his facial features.

 

A true handle bar mustache, John thought.

 

The Doctor took out a strange piece of paper in a leather case. “We’re just visitors you see. Just got into a small skirmish.”

 

The man peered at the paper then looked down at John. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

 

John nodded. “I know. I’m a doctor. Probably just needs to be cleaned out.”

 

“Well then please come back to my place. I have another room you can rest in for the night if you can’t make it back to your inn.”

 

The Doctor smiled. “If you would be so kind.”

 

The man nodded and went to the corner to hail a taxi. “Can’t we just go back to the TARDIS? What if he returns there and tries to leave?” Sherlock asked, once again agitated now that John was injured as well.

 

The Doctor shook his head. “She’s locked up for the night and can handle herself …besides…” The Doctor looked briefly at their helper. “What better way to learn about a new world than ask an insider.”

 

“It’s London!” Sherlock exclaimed. “I can maneuver its streets with my eyes closed.”

 

John gave a grin at the memory of a whirlwind chase throughout the streets of London chasing a cab. Had that really been three years ago?

 

Again the Doctor shook his head. “You know early 21st century London. We are now in Victorian London.” The Doctor gave a mysterious smile. “We might as well be in a whole new world.”

 

John laid a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “He’s right Sherlock. We might get better results if we just see where this takes us.” John didn’t know if it was the touch to the arm or his words but Sherlock seemed pacified.

 

The man turned around once he had hailed a horse drawn cab. “Are we ready?”

 

John stood up and nodded. “Yes. Thank you so much for your hospitality Dr…?”

 

“Ah forgive me for my lack of manners. My name is Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Please call me Arthur.”

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

Arthur’s extra room ended up being little bigger than a modest walk in closet, but it had a bed and John was aching to lie down and take a short nap. He sat down gratefully on the bed and watched as the door opened cautiously as Sherlock walked in with a bowl of clean water and a clean cloth.

 

Suddenly, John became very nervous. In all the confusion and running around, it came to John suddenly that Sherlock was actually alive and standing in front of him. After eighteen long months, John finally got a good look at his not dead friend.

 

Sherlock’s normally thin face was now gaunt and though his pale frame was covered by his usual clothes and coat (a replacement, John surmised, as the original was on the coat hook at 221B), it was obvious that Sherlock’s eating habits have worsened over the last year and a half. Thin and pale with dark circles under his eyes, Sherlock appeared to be a man close to death, but then John looked Sherlock in the eyes and found a spark there that told John that the taller man was very much alive and ready to take on the world.

 

That spark made John’s eyes well up, remembering the haunted empty look those eyes held the last time he was able to look at them clearly.

 

Thinking that John’s tears mean he was in pain, Sherlock kneeled next to the bed. “Are you ok? Is it deeper than we thought? John, say some—“ Sherlock’s worried words were cut off as a punch landed squarely in the jaw.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive, Sherlock?” John’s words were angry but his tears were now over flowing. “Do you know what you did to me?”

 

Sherlock had recovered from the punch. “Well, that was a little bit of a delayed reaction.” Another punch landed on chest though this one was much weaker as John began to shake.

 

“Shut up! You idiot, h-how could you?” John was sobbing now.

 

Cautiously, incase John wasn’t quite done with the punching; Sherlock reached out and laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, John, but in order for Moriarty’s plan to fail I had to die. And they would only believe it was true if you believed it.”

 

“What plan?” John wiped at his eyes. “Why did you have to jump?”

 

Sherlock suddenly found the ground quite interesting. “Because he had snipers trained on the people I cared about. If I didn’t jump, those snipers would have killed Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and…you.” Sherlock’s face had started to take on a pink hue. “Moran was the last piece in the puzzle. He was Moriarty’s second in command and he was the sniper trained on you….” Sherlock trailed off, the pink hue getting darker. “I was hoping to take him down swiftly and then return home to Baker Street…provided I still can.”

 

John looked at the taller man curiously. Then he drew Sherlock into a hug. “Of course you can, you idiot. Don’t ever do that again.”

 

Sherlock seemed stunned and unsure of what to do with his arms. Cautiously he laid a hand on John’s upper and lower back and pulled him closer. “John I—“

 

A sudden noise made them jump back but not break their hug. The Doctor barged in. “Well! Thanks to Arthur downstairs we seem to know where this Moran character went off too…” the Doctor trailed off as he noticed John’s tearstained face and Sherlock’s pink one. “Oh…now we’re doing the emotion thing… I’ll come back later…” The Doctor left as quickly as he came in and shut the door behind him.

 

John chuckled. Sherlock gave small nervous smile. “Let’s clean out that wound and bandage it before it get’s any worse. Then we can go see what he wanted.”

 

John assented. “But Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock turned around from where he was dipping the cloth in the water. “Yes?”

 

“We’re not done talking about this. But we’ll put it on hold till we catch Moran.”

 

Sherlock laid the damp cloth on John’s wound. “Agreed.”

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

“From what the boys loitering outside explained, the man you are looking for took off for the Thames. Seems that he is confused about his surroundings.” Arthur explained. “He’s currently sleeping under the Waterloo bridge.”

 

“Probably waiting for us to return. He knows we’ll have to eventually.” Sherlock surmised.

 

The Doctor nodded. “It’s probably best if we lure him back on to the TARDIS to subdue him and take him back to his own time.”

 

“TARDIS?” Arthur questioned.

 

“Uh. It’s complicated.” John attempted to explain. Arthur seemed to take that explanation.

 

“How do we sneak up on him though?” Sherlock continued.

 

The Doctor shrugged. “You are the life-risking detective.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to think. The Doctor also settled back and took on a thinking pose.

 

“What about – ?” John began to question but was cut off.

 

“Shh. No talking brain thinking.” The Doctor and Sherlock said at the same time. They looked at each other before resuming their thinking positions as if nothing happened.

 

John just rolled his eyes. Only a time traveling alien could be as weird as Sherlock.

 

Suddenly they two brilliant men jumped up at the same time. Both opened their mouths to speak before glaring at each other. Both thought their plan was better before hearing the other’s.

 

Again John rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

 

 ~o~o~o~ 

 

After hearing both the Doctor’s and Sherlock’s plan, which turned out to be very similar, they bid good night to their host, who had taken their insanity in stride.

 

Watching them leave, Arthur was stuck with the idea of writing down this brief adventure. Stories about a detective and his doctor. That might be a story worth telling.

 

As soon as the thought came it vanished. After all, who would be interested in such an insane tale?

 

 ~o~o~o~ 

 

John really wasn’t surprised when the plan didn’t work. He wasn’t surprised at all. After all, they were trying to sneak up on a trained assassin. A trained, armed assassin.

 

Of course the Doctor’s disastrous tumble down the riverbank didn’t really help matters.

 

The Doctor recovered quickly enough but Moran had already been alerted to their movements and immediately began firing.

 

Sherlock tried to cover John with his body, only to find John attempting to cover Sherlock.

 

The Doctor noted that the two looked rather ridiculous as they bodily argued over who was protecting whom, but figured that mentioning it while getting shot at wasn’t the best plan.

 

The army doctor and the detective got themselves sorted out and took cover near a pile of washed up debris.

 

The Doctor joined them. “Well, that didn’t go so well.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Now what?”

 

John noticed that Moran had stopped shooting. He figured the assassin was saving bullets, not knowing when he would be able to get a new cartridge. “Why is he shooting as us to begin with? There’s no way to understand how to work that TARDIS on his own.”

 

“He probably figures he just needs the key.” Sherlock replied.

 

“Well…she definitely wouldn’t like that.” The Doctor smirked at his own comment.

 

John had noticed that the Doctor talked about his time machine as if it were a person, but decided not to comment on it. He supposed that years of traveling made one fond of their mode of transportation.

 

“Well, you have it. Can’t you just open the TARDIS and lure him inside that way?” John suggested. “Then Sherlock and I will come up behind him and subdue him.”

 

“Yeah just one problem with that.” The Doctor held up a piece of wood in the air above their shelter and a shot rang out and pierced the wood, tearing it out of the Doctor’s hand. “I don’t particularly enjoy getting shot at. Despite recent events, it’s not really a hobby of mine.”

 

Now John rolled his eyes. “Well we can’t wait till he runs out of ammo.” He nodded towards the lightening skyline. “People are going to be up and about within hours. We can’t have him disappearing into the crowd.”

 

Sherlock nodded. “True. We’ll have to get him to use his ammo.” With that Sherlock jumped out of the shelter and ran rapidly towards Moran.

 

“SHERLOCK!” John screamed and ran after him. Two shots rang out, but neither hit him. Worriedly he glanced towards Sherlock, but found him also unharmed.

 

John caught up with Sherlock and stood in front of him, shielding the taller man with his own body. “Are you insane?!”

 

Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John. “He’s out of bullets.”

 

John waited but did not hear another shot. “How on earth could you have known those last two were the last ones?”

 

“I was counting. I recognized the gun make and model and knew how many bullets it held. When he had held me to his chest before I felt where he kept his extra magazine cartridges and how many he kept on him. It was just a matter of keeping track of the number of bullets fired.”

 

John laid his hands over Sherlock’s. “You’re brilliant.”

 

“Um excuse me, nice moment and all, but no I’m afraid he’s running towards us.” The Doctor pointed to the unarmed but probably still lethal man that was now, indeed, running towards them.

 

Sherlock held up a small shiny object. “Looking for this?” he shouted to the enraged man.

 

The Doctor gaped at him. “How on earth did you get that?”

 

“Pick pocketed it. You were being annoying.” Sherlock answered simply. Then he took off in the direction of the TARDIS. Moran followed closely.

 

“That’s it. I’m definitely changing the pocket I keep that in.” The Doctor mumbled before he and John gave chase.

 

Sherlock made it quickly to the TARDIS and found it easy to unlock. He went inside and waited. Moran closely followed behind while The Doctor and John brought up the rear and closed the door. Moran’s attention was held steadily on the key and so didn’t notice when John tackled the small man to the ground.

 

“Now, Doctor!”

 

The Doctor sprung into action and began hand pulling levers and twisting dials as fast as he could. Soon John heard the familiar noise.

 

_Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_

 

The man beneath him struggled until he finally managed to throw John off of him when the TARDIS jerked.

 

John was thrown back and tried to recover but another jerk threw him off balance and Moran managed to get behind him and put him in a hold.

 

By the position of Moran’s hands on his head, John knew that a quick snap of Moran’s hands could break his neck. He glanced at Sherlock and found the same understanding in Sherlock’s eyes.

 

With John in hand, Moran backed up towards the doors of the TARDIS.

 

“You’re going to let me go. Maybe I won’t break his neck as I leave.” Moran threatened.

 

Sherlock took a step forward but stopped when Moran tightened his grip. John found that it was getting hard to breathe.

 

“Maybe we can talk about this.” The Doctor tried to reason.

 

Moran backed himself all the way so his back was right against the door. “No talking, this is the deal.”

 

Suddenly, the door to the TARDIS flew open on it’s own accord. John felt it before Moran did and so had time to brace himself.

 

Moran’s grip on him fell away as the assassin tried to regain his balance grabbing on to anything within reach, including John’s jumper.

 

Sherlock raced forward and grabbed John around the middle jerking him inside and out of Moran’s hold.

 

Moran lost his balance and slipped out of the TARDIS. Their last sight of him was his shoe descending out of view.

 

The TARDIS door swung shut again.

 

“That was a very dangerous plan Doctor. Moran could have easily grabbed John and we would have lost him too.” Sherlock yelled.  
  


The Doctor raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me Sherlock. The TARDIS did that all by herself.”

 

Sherlock just shook his head and hugged John closer.

 

John laid his hand reverently on the door frame. “Thank you.”

 

 _Woo~oosh Woo~oosh!_ the TARDIS answered.

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

They landed in 221B Baker Street. The detective and the army doctor insisted that the Doctor stay the night.

 

The Doctor chose not to mention that he had his own room on the TARDIS when he realized that he would be taking John’s room.

 

Which meant that Sherlock and John would be sharing Sherlock’s bedroom.

 

So instead of protesting the unneeded hospitality, he bid the army doctor and consulting detective good night and climbed the stairs to John’s room.

 

Downstairs John and Sherlock looked at each other awkwardly. As the stress and adrenaline wore down from chasing Moran through 19th century London, the shock of seeing each other again finally began to take hold.

 

John laid a hand on Sherlock’s face and rubbed his thumb against the prominent cheekbone. “So…back home then”

 

“Yes. Very astute John.”

 

“Sherlock, I know you’re tired and probably want to go to bed but…” John looked away, moving his hand as he did so. “I just need you to promise me something…”

 

Sherlock nodded. “Anything, John.”

 

“You promise that you’ll still be here in the morning?”

 

“Unless you rather me be elsewhere…?”

 

“Not funny, Sherlock,” John huffed, “This whole day has been surreal, how will it’s not some sort of elaborate dream. Please Sherlock, I can’t deal with the feeling that you’re back only to have to dead in the morning all over again.”

 

“John…” Sherlock trailed off as he raised his hand to cup John’s neck. He gently tilted John’s face up. “John, I promise that this isn’t a dream. When you awake in the morning I will still be here.”

 

John leaned in a little closer. “Promise me something else?” Seeing Sherlock give a tiny nod in consent he continued. “Promise me that if some other idiot forces you to make a decision that affects both of our lives that you’ll try to talk to me about it first. I need to know that you trust me Sherlock. Because while I understand what you did, it might take just a little bit longer for me to trust you completely again.”

 

Sherlock tilted his head closer and briefly touched his lips to John’s. “John, if it was ever a choice between your life or mine, I would gladly choose the former because the latter isn’t worth much.”

 

John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s a little firmer before pulling away, “You idiot. Don’t say that, your life is so much more precious.” He raised his hand to cradle Sherlock’s face again and pressed their lips together in a firm but chaste kiss.

 

It was a bit longer before they broke away. Sherlock leaned his forehead against John’s. “That’s ok. I’m pretty sure the only life changing decision we’ll have to make is whether or not to retire to Sussex to study bees.”

 

John laughed and pulled away. He turned to look at Sherlock’s bedroom door. “You’re room’s been kept the same. I haven’t touched anything… couldn’t really.” John took his hand away from Sherlock’s face and Sherlock resisted reaching out and keeping John’s hand where it was. John huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “Well. You look exhausted. Pop off to bed. I’ll sleep out here on the sofa.”

 

“Nonsense John. The sofa is unsuitable to sleep on. Good for thinking, bad for sleeping. Your shoulder will ache in the morning.” Sherlock opened the door to his room and found that though things hadn’t been moved, his things have been kept clean and dusted; the work of either John or Mrs. Hudson. He turned back to John and held his hand out. “My bed is large enough for two people.” He left the implication open ended. He noticed John’s blush and rolled his eyes. “Honestly John, just to sleep. Besides, after such a long absence of each other, I think we could just some time just…cuddling.”

 

John giggled. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and stalked off into his room, muttering something John could barely hear. “Never had anyone to say it to before…”

 

John only smiled fondly and followed Sherlock into the room and shut the door.

 

~o~o~o~ 

 

The next morning, John awoke to find himself entangled within Sherlock’s arms and legs. Apparently Sherlock had turned into an octopus in the middle of the night. John manages to untangle himself and turned around.

 

Sherlock was still peacefully sleeping. John thought it was just as well, as he was sure Sherlock didn’t get much sleep while he was traveling.

 

The army doctor kissed the detectives forehead before climbing out of bed and eventually making his way downstairs. As he reached the landing, he realized that it had been just over 24 hours since his adventure with the Doctor had started.

 

The Doctor himself was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. Mrs. Hudson was fluttering about.

 

“Oh John, you didn’t tell me you would be having company.” Mrs. Hudson handed the Doctor breakfast. “Must be nice to have someone around after Sherlock’s…well…” she trailed off. “Though I’m concerned over you’re new decoration…is that a police box?” She gestured towards the TARDIS.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I won’t be staying long.” The Doctor replied, as he started picking at the breakfast she handed him, unsure of what he would like. “Besides, life is full of miracles and surprises. Sherlock just may turn up again one day.”

 

Mrs. Hudson chuckled nervously. “You say such strange things.”

 

“Actually Mrs. Hudson, in this case what he is saying is not so strange.” A deep baritone voice called out and John turned to see Sherlock appearing out of his room in his dressing gown.

 

Mrs. Hudson gave a small shout and fainted. The Doctor glanced over at her. “Well…that’s not good is it?"

 

~o~o~o~

 

After John checked their landlady over for a concussion, Sherlock explained what he had previously told John.

 

Mrs. Hudson didn’t understand all of it, but she did see how John and Sherlock looked at each other now, and she smiled.

 

She retired to her own flat to get some rest, (on doctor’s orders, John’s, not the Doctor’s) and the Doctor picked up the paper he had been reading. “Here, thought you two might be interested in this.”

 

It wasn’t the front page, but instead in a small section towards the back of the paper the headline read, “Mysterious body found drowned in Thames, ruled accidental drawing by coroner.”

 

The story had little else to tell.

 

Sherlock gave a little smirk and John wrapped his arms around him. “It’s over then, right?” John asked.

 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied and turned to John smiling fondly. “It’s really over.”

 

The Doctor only looked at the two and grinned. “Well, I guess my job here is done then.”

 

John and Sherlock broke away from each other’s gaze. “You’re leaving? Already?” John asked.

 

The Doctor nodded. “Can’t stay I’m afraid. I have to be off to see the universe. But I’m sure London is now in good hands.” He turned to go.

 

“Doctor! Wait.” Sherlock walked up to the Doctor. “John accepted me coming back from the dead. I’m sure your friends will too.”

 

The Doctor didn’t questions Sherlock’s knowledge of his own sadness and fear, but instead just grinned. “I suppose it’s worth a shot. But perhaps first I’ll visit my old friend Churchill.”

 

“Winston Churchill?!” John exclaimed.

 

The Doctor grinned and snapped his fingers. The TARDIS door swung open and the Doctor stepped inside and turned around. “Goodbye. Maybe we’ll meet again. Not really sure yet, time travel and all that.”

 

John smiled. “The whole universe to explore? You won’t be back to see boring old us.”

 

Sherlock turned around. “We are anything but boring.”

 

The Doctor smiled. “You are extraordinary.” He shut the door and soon John and Sherlock heard the now familiar and comforting noise.

 

_Woo~oosh! Woo~oosh!_

~o~o~o~ 

 

Epilogue

 

They never forgot their adventure with the Doctor. Who could forget that?

 

Slowly, they revealed to the world Sherlock’s resurrection. After Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft, who John had been shocked to learn had not known about Sherlock’s faked death, they brought into their confidence Lestrade.

 

Lestrade also landed a blow on Sherlock, but eventually forgave him and turned out that Lestrade had been gathering evidence of Sherlock’s innocence, including past cases that Sherlock consulted on and witnesses who testified that the detective couldn’t have possibly orchestrated their cases as they were cold cases and had happened years ago when Sherlock would have been a teen. Eventually Lestrade gathered enough evidence to exonerate Sherlock and even handed him a new case.

 

The case of the mysterious body that had turned up in the Thames. Supposedly the body had drowned but the victim, Sebastian Moran, had last been seen in Morocco just hours before washing up on the banks of the Thames River.

 

Sherlock knew that even if he told Lestrade the truth, no one but John would believe him.

 

That was a secret between himself, John, and the time traveling Doctor.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm know I probably messed up some sort of Doctor Who time travel rule but I'm not gonna sweat it. I checked for grammatical errors myself, but if something is glaringly obvious please let me know. 
> 
> This story was actually written during finals week. It was a welcome and interesting distraction, and I still passed all my classes. So maybe creativity helps develop good study habits?


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